Two Poems


Ezra Pound is
Fruit of music in
Colors of poetry…
T S Eliot wakes
Up the dead land
Of a brothel.
Shelly beatifies
The earth into
A romantic postmodernism …
Birds float elegantly
In the sky….
My heart lives and loves
In the mystic adoration
Of poetry….
Where is the art to live…
Angst you are an existential
Gift a solace to a depressed
Mind ….
Flowers, violets are
Chanting hymns of the heavens..
Where is my mind gone?
It’s wandering about
As a bard …
What God’s done to the word …
I’ll make a feeble verse of it…
Jesus you are a mystic of love….
Beethoven, I pay homage
To you for your romantic
The passion I found in her,
Is a river of mystery?
Poems sculpt the
Architecture of verses
Hanging on skyscrapers….
Walked lonely through the
Crowded night…
Whores are soliciting me
In obscene gestures…
Night is cold and wet
Like a drained phallus …
Tarot, I found in you
A devil of lies…
Astrologers fornicate
In the baloney of untruth…
What has life got to do with
What sincerity does the
Soul have …
Gratitude, I have found
You open in a whore’s orifice…
The stains of sin
Were washed as snow
On the cross…
I wish the day that I was not born…
Nirvana, Yoga, Mantras …
All vibrations of existential
To be a mortal in this pitiless
World ….
Dali dissected time into
A frozen embryo…
Is it the ID of a
Narcissistic Oedipus …
Shame, I have lived
On the pastures of
Paradise is written
In the book of life…
Where is the fire of passion…
I am melting in her robust
The art of making love
Is written in the book of poetry….
Time, the wheel of
Colossal fornication…
Eternity gnashes
As Serpent biting its tail …
What mystic passion
Lies in the one dollar bill…
I am a cloned bastard
Of ethereal poetry…
A cloud of dust
Obscures my shadow…
I have fallen in life …
Each time I climb
Up the ladder ….
Fortune is a lottery
Bringing good tidings
To me ….
Sand castles laid
Out by a child ….
Remind me gently
Of a lost childhood…
Rock music is
A lost metaphor
Of the Devil in his place…
Blues Jazz and Gospel
Echo the sweet music of poetry…
I ask God why I was made
Mortal in a womb?
Morals for me have lost
The color of the skin….
A rainbow is jazz
A fusion of music and poetry…
Time is an echo of a
Bard on wings …
Where is the soul in
A Wasteland ….
Diehard rhythms of shit
Make my day…
My mind is a frozen
Arctic …
I crumble thoughts into
Dust …
Ennui thy shackles
Have tethered my feet…
Oedipus is a roused
Bard, your charm
Does not lie in verse …
Druids plant skeletons
In the forest …
Witch with scythe
You are infernal Macbeth …
Shades of meaning
You lie lost in words….
You adulteress,
You made a veil of sin for me…
Time lies in a savage dream…
When can I know the self?
The self is fragmented
And disoriented…
A poet’s harp is
A wing of madness….
Fury, you are a
Last supper to relish…
Brothels I have to run
To you to celebrate madness….
Maiden, I have adorned
You with poems …
I have made a garland
Of poetic love….
Smoking pot
Withers the soul…
Time passes by as
A tranquil dream….
Sex awakens like
A slithering weed …
Making love is a poem…
Metaphors poured from
The sky ….
The earth is a wet pussy…
Blessed are the ecstatic
For they shall obtain ecstasy….
Signifiers release me
From shackles of signification….
Am I a ruin of life?
Beatitudes are sculptures of
Epiphanies run deep
Into schisms …
The horizon is drunk
With the cup of oblivion…
When can the chains of
Bondage break free…
When will the shackles
Of the body gloat in delight….
A dream dies in the morning….
What passions are there in her body?
She send me a photo
In a bra and panty…
I she an erotic dream
Becoming a savage to my
Surreal thoughts…
My words are a poetic haze…
I float in the sweet opera of
My thoughts …..
I won’t be defeated in life…
Tomorrow brings a
Renewed hope….
Whisper to me that
You love me…
Poetry is the syncretism
Of the heart….
Passion lies in the chest of words…
Pulchritude I’ve found
You as trash in the dustbin….
Is there power of words….
Utterance bequeath
The life of meaning to me….
Fairies, mermaids and nymphs
I’ve found you all in brothels ….
The meaning of love is found
In a poem …
As I grow older …
I regret that I’ve lived so long…
Mid 40’s catches the blues ….
Morning woke me like a silly song…
Cigarettes you puff my existential poetry…
Where is the song of the night?
Is it an undressed body….
The passion for life ….
I have to find it in
Existential meaning ….
Render me no dark clouds
Of meaning ….
Life chance upon me
A rainbow of existence …
Am I time’s allotted sculpture?
Am I ghost that fornicates
With meaning?
I am the Wasteland of utterances.

Dawn started moving
With the lovers communing
Colors nuzzling fawns
Surging tourbillion
Glowing passion
Eternity flies as
Sadhus in white
Unveiling time on
Mystic flight
Brook of beauty
Running through
Gurgling Moksha
All the way through
Beyond mundane life
Of Aching Pain and deadly
Heraclitus is moving
From flux to feeling…

(Sadhus are Indian Saints. Moksha is salvation in Sanskrit)

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